


Dancing in the Dark

by molmcmahon



Series: Eternal Flame [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Elia Martell, Bisexual Harry Potter, Don't copy to another site, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Threesome, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molmcmahon/pseuds/molmcmahon
Summary: Lyanna Stark is the first born child of Rickard and Lyarra Stark, born with a magic older than House Stark itself.OR: The beginning of a legend.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen
Series: Eternal Flame [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744903
Comments: 24
Kudos: 670





	Dancing in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own either HP or ASoIaF though I wish I did.
> 
> Sometime over the last few years, someone asked me to write a Harry Potter is reborn as Lyanna Stark story and the only way I would even consider writing it would be to do a proper threesome. So... finally I had the time to write the first story in a series because this pairing begged to become a whole ass series.

Lyanna Stark was a quiet girl as her mother found out, her grey eyes looking at everything and everyone as she found her way through the world. The tufts of dark hair on her head were wild and as she grew, the first daughter of Rickard and Lyarra Stark, her wild hair grew with her.

Though as time passed and Lyarra had sons, Lyanna proved to be… not as silent as her birth had been. She supposed it had something to do with being born into a second life and with not being the Chosen One. 

“Lya!”

“I didn’t do it! I swear!”

“Ben, tell them I didn’t do it!”

“I don’t want to get in the middle of this, Lyanna,” Benjen muttered, his eyes sparking with amusement. “Are you done packing for the tourney?”

Lyanna grinned and urged her horse into a canter, leaving their guards behind. Benjen spluttered and raced to catch up, keeping watch on Lyanna’s horse. His sister had taken a long time to find a horse that would bear her but she finally did a few moons ago. Lyanna rode a sturdy draft horse, thick around its hooves and black all the way around.

No other horse would bear her form and Lyanna always evaded questioning when Ben or Ned or the horse master asked her why. She had mentioned it was something older than the north that was causing horses to be scared of her but that didn’t mean she was a bad rider. It just meant… that she treasured the draft horse that bore her even more. 

Lord Bolton had commented that she looked half a horse when he had arrived for the harvest feast last month. Their father said she heard much more than any northerner had before after she had heard the first party of lords coming up onto the hill right before the castle. Their father also said she carried the wolf blood within her just like her brother, Brandon. Their father was more right than anything but she was pretty sure Brandon didn’t know how to do what she could do.

“Aye, I’m already packed, Ben,” Lyanna retorted, wrinkling her nose. “I want to get out of here already. I want to go see the world.”

Benjen smiled a little as they watched the guards that would come with them mount up. 

“I’m ten and nine and I haven’t yet left the north and Winterfell,” Lyanna muttered, stroking her horse’s neck. Not to mention that she was… really older than 19 but she wasn’t going to mention that to her youngest brother. She hadn’t told anyone much of her past though.

“Well, you will soon enough,” Ben said, shrugging. “You are betrothed to Lord Baratheon.”

Lyanna shuddered as she remembered hearing about Robert Baratheon. She reached up to run a hand through her hair, her long dark hair that was as wild as it had ever been. She could never really get it to lay down properly and her septa had given up years ago. She hadn’t thought to mention that she was used to having wild hair. 

“I won’t be if I have anything to say about it,” Lyanna whispered, before urging her horse towards the gate.

Benjen followed her, hearing his older brother catch up too. 

* * *

  
  
  


Lyanna looked out at the big tourney field in front of her, the wooden seats empty now but for the occasional bird who flew over it. Banners billowed in the wind, bearing the sigil of the royal house, the three headed dragon. The box for the king and prince sat in the center of the whole field, a little bit ahead of the other seats.

Harrenhal sat a mile away, the behemoth of a castle worn down throughout time and dragonfire. When she had first walked through it, she had felt the cold presence of ghosts, the lingering heat of dragonflame. Balerion had burned Harrenhal and its occupants hundreds of years ago but the deaths had created ghosts. Ghosts that were still here even today.

She had fled the keep and castle as fast as she could then, keeping to her tent. Her brothers had pitched their own tents around her’s and then the other men from the north had surrounded them even further. There were men from Bear Island, from White Harbor and from Hornwood, as well as from the Vale, the westerlands, and the Reach were here as well.

She had heard that the king was here, had left the Red Keep and King’s Landing to travel to Harrenhal for the tourney but she hadn’t much cared for the reason. Being reborn had made for… an interesting experience but she certainly hadn’t expected to be reborn somewhere where there were kings and queens and knights. Where the royal family once rode dragons.

Ron would have been envious of it. Her heart ached at the memory of her friends but she enjoyed having a second chance. She enjoyed having siblings who actually cared for her and enjoyed not having to spend the first several years in a cupboard.

Though living somewhere where women were limited in what they could do was a different beast in and of itself. Her father had set her betrothal to Lord Baratheon two years ago. She was expected to become Lady Baratheon, the Lady of Storm’s End, and… 

A yell drew her attention east, squinting her eyes to see what was the matter and spotted a small man surrounded by taller, larger men. Lyanna’s eyes narrowed and she walked over to the small clearing before the lake, taking in the sight before her. 

The three men were taunting the shorter man, circling him and poking their spears at him, calling him a frogeater and a mudman. Lyanna blinked and then near let out a growl, memories of pureblood Hogwarts students calling Hermione a mudblood falling through her mind.

She drew on her inner strength for it, sharpening her vision a little, her reflexes and ran quietly up to one of the men, pushing him away. 

“That’s my father’s man you’re kicking!” Lyanna remarked, raising her voice and meeting the eyes of the other two men. The one she pushed had a brooch that had the twin keeps of House Frey on it while she vaguely recognized the colors of House Blount and House Haigh on the other two. “Try picking on someone your own size.”

The smaller man in the middle turned hurriedly to face her and she took in the sight of one of the crannogmen, recognizing him from hearing her father talk of him. Howland Reed. He was smaller even than her as he stood in front of her and she studied the scale armor he was wearing.

The sounds of the God’s Eye behind them filled her ears, the lake’s waves growing choppier.

The three young men all stared at her and then fled. Lyanna could see that each one of them had a tight hold on their weapons before she sighed, flexing her fingers. The Elder Wand slipped itself into her left hand and she stroked its wood once before turning to look at Howland.

“Are you alright?”

The man nodded, shaking a little before her. “You are Lord Stark’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Lyanna. Come on. Share our tent for a while,” Lyanna remarked, gesturing back to the northern tents. “My brothers will like to meet you.”

Howland fell into step with her, his eyes widening a little. “Surely the heir to Winterfell and his brother have better things to do?”

“No, of course not,” Lyanna said, smiling a little as they walked back to the tents. Men stared at the two of them and Lyanna shrugged it off as she walked, seeing the varying banners flying high in the sky. The sun was not yet halfway up and there was still a slight fog to the air, low and thick. “Besides, Brandon is heir after all and you’re one of our father’s bannermen.”

* * *

Princess Elia Martell walked on top of the walls of Harrenhal, cradling Rhaenys in her arms. Her little girl was wide eyed at everything, from the tents that littered the land around them to the gate that closed off the castle from everything else.

Her belly was rounded with babe again, a year after giving birth to Rhaenys. 

She looked around at the keep and castle around her, at the morning fog that coiled above the ground. There were guards of House Whent walking on the walls around them and guards bearing shields with the three headed dragon stationed in and around the huge castle of Harrenhal. The men nodded at her as she passed, dipping their heads in a small bow to the future Queen.

She was flanked by three guards from House Martell, as was tradition that the bride’s house provided protection. Ashara was getting both of their outfits ready for the opening festivities tonight back in their quarters so Elia was mostly alone aside from her guards.

The sound of crows cawing filled the air as she peered up at the maester’s tower and the rookery above it. A few black birds flew away and Elia watched them idly, seeing Rhaenys do the same. 

Rhaenys opened and closed her mouth several times before pointing up at the birds. “Mama! Birds!”

Elia smiled as her daughter’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yes, sweetling. Birds,” Elia whispered, tightening her arms around her daughter. She gasped out loud as the babe within her kicked and her knees trembled.

She stopped in her tracks as she swayed and she felt Rhaenys squirm in her hold. She slowly lowered Rhaenys down to the ground and reached out for something, anything to…

“Your Grace…”

Warm fingers grasped her hand and an arm slipped its way around her waist a minute later. Elia breathed out on a shaky exhale, clutching her stomach, and looked at her rescuer, expecting to see a man, one of her guards mayhaps. 

It was a woman who had hold of her, with long wild dark hair flowing loose and bright grey eyes. There was concern in those eyes and Elia stared at the woman who had kept her upright, raising an eyebrow. The woman had a great big fur coat on, a cloak swept over her shoulders. She looked to be a few years younger than Elia but not by much.

“I can back away…”

“No. No, it’s…” Elia trailed off, her voice unsteady. The woman’s warmth sparked through her and Elia sighed into it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The woman’s accent was clearly not one of Dorne and nor was it from the riverlands. “You are from the north?”

“Lyanna Stark, your Grace. I’m from Winterfell.”

Elia’s eyes widened a little. “You were Lord Stark’s first born child.”

“Aye, I was. I didn’t mean to be this forward, your Grace. I just saw you and…”

Elia reached out to grasp Lyanna’s fingers in hers, meeting the woman’s eyes. “It is alright. I welcome the help. You are certainly awake early however.”

Lyanna’s cheeks reddened slightly at the words but her shoulders remained loose. Elia withdrew her fingers then and immediately missed the warmth of the other woman, flexing her fingers slightly.

“So are you.”

Elia blinked. “I enjoy the mornings, more so now that my husband and I are out of Dragonstone.”

Lyanna’s lips twitched up into a small smile. “I enjoy the mornings as well. At least the early mornings. My brothers don’t get up as early as I do most of the time.”

Elia smiled at that and turned to look to the small contingent of tents with Dornish flags above them. Her brother was somewhere amongst those tents, probably finding someone to play with for the next week. “My brother’s often enough in someone else’s bed so I would not know.”

Lyanna snorted. “I’ve heard rumors of Prince Oberyn Martell. What I wouldn’t give to have the freedom he has to… sleep around.”

Elia’s eyes widened only a little as she studied Lyanna, a spark of heat gathering in her. She too envied her brother his freedom but she was fond of her husband and fond of her daughter. “What do you mean by that?”

Lyanna sighed, her eyes taking on a far away look, like memories were flashing through her mind. Elia idly wondered what they were, wondered what it was like for girls and women up in the farthest reaches of Westeros. She herself had never been north of King’s Landing before and now she was in Harrenhal. She knew Dorne offered more independence and freedom than the other kingdoms.

“Westeros… is not what I’m used to,” Lyanna remarked gently, her eyes refocusing on Elia. Her eyes flicked to the girl at their feet, at Rhaenys who was standing nearly on her mother’s feet now with wide violet eyes.

Elia blinked at the young woman’s words, seeing Lyanna’s eyes narrow in thought or memory.

“Rhaenys looks a lot like you.”

Elia narrowed her eyes and Lyanna paled a little, waving her hands.

“I don’t mean… I heard what the king said when you and Prince Rhaegar presented her at court,” Lyanna explained, her eyes narrowing too and a grimace making itself known. “I don’t hold for that kind of thing, for prejudice. I just meant she’s as pretty as her mother.”

Rhaenys smiled up at Lyanna and then turned back to looking at everything else around them.

Elia blinked, her cheeks reddening only a little. “Thank you. I bet you are just as pretty as your mother was too.”

Lyanna smiled, her grey eyes softening and flashing with some undecipherable emotion. “I had best be getting back to my brothers, Your Grace. It was nice talking to you.”

* * *

She followed her brothers into the great hall of Harrenhal later on, an hour after lunch, swaying with the crowds as they filed in. There were so many people from so very many places and Lyanna’s eyes widened only a little bit. Harrenhal was impressive but for the ghosts milling about.

Howland, Brandon, Benjen and Ned all walked with her, grouped around her as if to shield her from everyone else. They walked alongside a few northern lords as they ventured into the hall, seeing the twenty fireplaces all spread out. There were many, if not a hundred tables filling out the hall and at the front of it, was the dais.

King Aerys Targaryen, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife Princess Elia Martell sat to the right of the lord of Harrenhal. All of the knights of the kingsguard surrounded them but one had already left. The newly accepted Ser Jaime Lannister had galloped away from Harrenhal not an hour before and Lyanna had seen the wary look in the man’s green eyes.

The king had told him to go back to King’s Landing to guard the queen and prince.

Lyanna’s eyes turned to the prince and princess, seeing their young daughter on Elia’s lap. Princess Elia Martell was beautiful and Lyanna’s breath caught at the sight of her, the woman’s long, dark hair spread out over her shoulders, smooth and clean. Her dark eyes were looking on adoringly at her daughter and Elia’s finger was held within Rhaenys’. Elia had been a little startled when Lyanna had bumped into her earlier this morning but Lyanna had meant it. Elia Martell was pretty, even beautiful though she had the feeling that most of the court wouldn’t think it. 

Echoes of memories filled her, of falling in love with both Ron and Hermione in her previous life.

Lyanna watched Elia’s lips pull up into a smile and her eyes caught on her for a moment. 

“Got your eyes on the prince?” 

Lyanna blinked and elbowed Brandon as they sat down, turning to look at the heir of Winterfell. Brandon Stark, her brother. 

“No, I don’t. Brandon!”

Brandon snorted and turned to talk with a few of the Tully men. There was a wandering crow from the Night’s Watch looking for recruits in the corner of the hall, dressed all in black and a sword at his hip. There were no men crowding around the brother of the Night’s Watch but Lyanna didn’t think that was unusual. From what she had heard, the Night’s Watch was full of criminals now. A far cry from the Night’s Watch of history.

Lyanna turned back to look at the royal family, wondering where Queen Rhaella was. Prince Viserys was also nowhere to be seen and she grimaced at the thought, remembering hearing about what the king had done to Duskendale a few years before.

She only hoped the prince would be better and she looked over to where Prince Rhaegar Targaryen sat. The prince… looked a king, with his silver hair loose and splayed back. His indigo eyes were vivid and Lyanna shivered at the sight, tilting her head at a thought. His hair was definitely more silvery than Draco’s had been and in the candlelight, Rhaegar’s hair looked ethereal.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the prince, wondering what was on his mind. He was the future heir to the throne and yet… he looked distant, like he was thinking of other things. 

She remembered hearing that the prince had turned to learning how to fight a few years ago, and hearing that the man had been knighted soon after. 

King Aerys Targaryen… on the other hand… almost made her stomach start to roil. His finger nails were overgrown and she idly thought them to be nine inches grown. His beard was matted and long while his hair was also matted, tangled and dirty. He was thin and unkept and everything that Rhaegar was not, everything a king was not. She saw him laugh at something a courtier said and then immediately stop laughing a second later, his eyes flashing with anger. 

She had heard rumors that the king was now using fire as a way to execute criminals now instead of hanging or beheading though she wasn’t entirely sure they were true. She hoped they weren’t but judging by the way that Aerys looked now… There was a good chance the rumors were true.

She leaned into their table and watched as food started to be brought out, from various kinds of meat and vegetables to fruit. “Ned, what have you heard about this tourney?”

Ned raised an eyebrow at her question even as a band of musicians began to play. “What do you mean?”

“Someone had to pay for this,” Lyanna whispered, raising her voice just high enough that her brother would hear her. 

Brandon leaned in too and poked her in her shoulder, grinning widely. “Lyanna, it’s your favorite music!”

“Aye, it sounds good,” Lyanna muttered, elbowing her brother in his shoulder. “Brandon! Go find someone to dance with then!”

Everyone began to eat and Lyanna ate well, enjoying the different dishes of the riverlands. Some folk even began to dance and she watched as Brandon stood up and walked over to a crowd of women. Benjen and Ned just sat in their seats, watching as men all around them stood up and invited ladies to dance. It was an echo of the Yule Ball back in her fourth year and she closed her eyes as goosebumps traveled up her arms.

She opened up her eyes to see Lady Ashara Dayne dancing with Lord Jon Connington, as the song changed.

“Don’t you want to ask a lady to dance?” Lyanna questioned, winking at Ned.

Ned shrugged, his face reddening at the thought. “Lyanna, I am fine.”

Lyanna sighed and Ben laughed. 

“Too bad you can’t dance with the prince,” Ben said, with amusement in his voice. “He’s already wed.”

“What if I don’t want to dance at all?” Lyanna muttered under her breath. 

Brandon walked back over to their table and gestured to where Lord Robert Baratheon was sitting. “Lya, he’s available! Go dance with your future husband.”

Lyanna scowled and glanced to where Robert Baratheon sat. The Lord of Storm’s End sat with a few of his bannermen and met her eyes, smiling widely with a drink in hand. There was a woman standing very, very close to him, almost in his lap and he wasn’t pushing her away. From what Ned said, Robert already had a bastard in the Vale and who knows how many in and around Storm’s End.

Bastards that he wasn’t going to care for. No one cared for their bastards like they were children and Lyanna had always wanted to change that but… in this time and place, she had no power. No one would take her seriously as a woman. They might in Dorne but not here.

“Brandon, I do not want to dance with my future husband.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow but nodded, walking off to go find a woman to charm into bed.

“Why don’t you want to? You’ll be spending more and more time with him,” Benjen said.

Lyanna wrinkled her nose and turned away, standing up and walking through the crowds of people on the dance floor.

Lyanna turned to look at the prince and princess. Rhaegar had vanished for a moment and Elia was left alone at the dais, Rhaenys on her lap. Prince Oberyn Martell was sitting next to her, teasing his niece. No one had danced with Elia yet and Lyanna wondered what Rhaegar had planned. She knew Elia was with child again, nearly a year after she had given birth to Rhaenys, but she wasn’t exactly sure how many months into the pregnancy the princess was. Mayhaps enough to slow her down.

More and more people joined the dance floor and Lyanna glanced around the hall, taking in the sight of lords and ladies. She idly wondered… what the reaction would be if she walked up to the dais but shrugged it off. She still had that Gryffindor courage that had gotten her through difficult tasks and even now she had the reflexes of a wolf. Ben and Ned’s eyes widened as they watched her walk over to the dais.

“Lyanna!”

Her heart thumped in her chest as she approached the king and princess, meeting Elia’s dark eyes. The princess looked at her, quiet curiosity in her eyes, as Lyanna stepped forward. Oberyn turned to look at her, his eyes darkening in thought and perhaps a little warning. 

“My lady, would you like to dance with me?” Lyanna questioned, holding out her hand in offer.

Oberyn blinked. It was too loud for anyone else to have heard her, what with the musicians playing their instruments in a joyful but slow piece. 

Elia stared at her, her lips twitching up in bemusement, before she turned to her brother. “Oberyn, would you mind watching Rhaenys?”

“Elia, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Oberyn exclaimed, mischief in his eyes. “Come here, little dragon. Your uncle will protect you from these loud people.”

Rhaenys giggled and immediately switched laps, letting Oberyn jostle her up and down.

Elia smiled and reached out to take Lyanna’s hand, slipping her thin fingers into her’s.

* * *

Elia looked into Lyanna Stark’s eyes as the woman helped her stand, her strong fingers lightly entwined with Elia’s. Lyanna was warm, warmer than any other person she had touched, and her light grey eyes sparked in thought. She had half thought the northern girl would be cold, like what the North was always like she imagined, but then she had realized it was silly. 

“This is not a jape, is it?” Elia whispered, as they finally stood face to face with one another.

“No. No, it is not,” Lyanna murmured back as they walked to the dance floor. People fell silent around them and even the musicians stopped playing. Shouts and laughter dwindled until there were no other sounds in the great hall. “I just… wanted to dance with a beautiful woman. Is that too much to ask?”

Elia snorted and Lyanna smiled a little, even as people made room for them on the dance floor. 

“Do you want to lead or shall I?” Elia questioned, as they stopped at the center of the floor. She could see all 30 fireplaces from this point and see the king staring at them with wide eyes. She could even see Lord Baratheon staring at Lyanna with a hungry look on his face, though the man was wholly confused as to why his betrothed was on the dance floor with another woman. People from all over the kingdoms were here and they were staring at them in confusion, some of them incredulous while others were completely dumbfounded.

“You should lead. I haven’t danced in a long time,” Lyanna said, closing her eyes at a memory and then reopening them. “Besides, I may be a little rusty. Just pick something that both of us ought to know.”

Elia dipped her head in a nod and watched as Lyanna curtsied as if to a lord. Elia could see a hint of Lyanna’s lower calves and was surprised to see riding leathers underneath the woman’s dress. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight and bowed back, holding out her arm. 

Lyanna reached out with her own arm and they danced together, striding over the dance floor easily enough. Lyanna held Elia’s eyes as they moved together, twirling around each other in one of the more common courtly dances. It was slow and easy the way they fit together and still the musicians were silent. 

Elia stared right into Lyanna’s eyes, caught by the woman’s look and gaze, and Lyanna met her eyes right back, flushing a little. Their fingers were entwined and slowly but surely Elia heard the harp that began to play, knowing it was her husband. He was playing something that she had not heard of yet and perhaps it was his most recent visit to Summerhall that had inspired him for this song.

Lyanna’s eyes flicked momentarily up to the dais and Elia watched as the woman flushed even more, presumably having caught Rhaegar’s eyes. She swallowed and waited until Lyanna focused back on her and the woman hesitated briefly before Elia squeezed her fingers.

The woman that was known as the wolf maid smiled and twirled even more wildly, spinning slowly but surely before bowing, like a man would. Elia grinned and curtsied back, the reverse of what they did at the beginning of the dance.

“Thank you, my lady,” Lyanna whispered, her grey eyes intent and almost glowing in the candle light around them. “That was wonderful.”

“I enjoyed it as well,” Elia murmured, loathe to let Lyanna’s fingers go. The woman was warm, like the sun, even though she was from the North. She wondered if all northerners were this warm or if it was just Lyanna. “You move with surety in your steps.”

Lyanna grinned and winked at her, making Elia’s stomach flip around. “I walk like a wolf. That’s what I am.”

Elia laughed and finally released Lyanna’s hand. Lyanna nodded to her and walked off the still silent dance floor. Rhaegar finished playing his current song, slow chords ending in a hopeful note. Elia watched as Lyanna padded out through the crowd, the woman’s fingers clenching like she had been loathe to release Elia too, before dropping to her sides. 

She herself turned around and headed back to her seat, meeting Rhaegar’s curious indigo eyes. Rhaenys was still playing on Oberyn’s lap and her brother winked at her. Elia rolled her eyes and stroked her own belly, feeling the babe growing within.

“Elia?” Rhaegar looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

“It was very nice,” Elia remarked quietly, looking at the great hall in front of them. The hall was still silent with every noble lord and lady staring either at her or at Lyanna Stark, who was just sitting quietly between her three brothers. Lyanna’s three brothers were staring at her with wide eyes while Elia could see a hint of bemusement in Brandon’s. “Lyanna Stark is… different. There’s something about her.”

“Something?” Rhaegar echoed, fingering a few notes on his harp. He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“I don’t know but she wanted…” Elia trailed off. “I’ve seen the occasional women dance together in Dorne.”

“What did she say?” Rhaegar asked, strumming a chord or two, curious and yet melancholic.

“She said she wanted to dance with a beautiful woman.”

“You are beautiful, dear Elia. The court lords and ladies in Westeros just don’t…”

Elia sighed. “You can say it. They don’t like Dornish men and women.”

Rhaegar scowled and reached out for her hand. Elia curled her fingers into his and reaching out with her other hand to run her fingers through Rhaenys’ curls. 

“They’ll have to get used to you,” Rhaegar offered. “You’ll be their future Queen.”

  
  


* * *

Lyanna stared up at the dais later that night, as the festivities continued.

“Some men have said that Tywin is upset about having Ser Jaime join the kingsguard,” Brandon murmured, as they watched.

Lyanna turned to look at the few tables where most of the westerland men sat, seeing several lesser nobles and yet no Tywin Lannister. “Most firstborn sons don’t join the kingsguard, Brandon. Look up Westerosi history and you’ll find no heir to a great house in the guard.”

“You and Westerosi history. I only care about the present,” Brandon said, grinning as he met the eyes of a lady. “And what lady I might take to bed next.”

Lyanna turned his way and followed his gaze, seeing Lady Ashara Dayne looking their way. Or was she looking at Ned? 

“History can repeat itself,” Lyanna muttered, her eyes narrowing at the look on Aerys’ face. Memories of her war against Voldemort flashed through her mind but she shrugged them off. 

“I’m not going anywhere until you say why you danced with Princess Elia,” Brandon whispered, smirking at her. “Sister dear, you didn’t say anything? Father will say that you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I was just dancing with her,” Lyanna retorted, scowling at her brother. She looked to Ned or Ben for help and they both stayed quiet. “Besides, I might be chosen as a lady in waiting for the future queen.”

She stood up and brushed off her dress, taking care to not flash her riding leathers to anyone, and stalked off. She felt the gazes of more than just her brothers on her back as she walked out of the great hall and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Lyanna hadn’t wanted to draw attention to herself but she supposed she just did.

Her heart had thumped loudly in her chest when Elia had accepted her offer of a dance and continued to race, just a little quieter. The warmth of the other woman had slithered right into her, as Elia held her hands. Elia’s hair had been loose at her back and had looked really smooth compared to her own. Lyanna had looked right into Elia’s dark eyes steadily, not missing a beat. 

She had felt this way a little bit during her first life, when she and Hermione had shared beds in the girls dormitory occasionally. The nightmares for both of them had gone quiet when they slept together.

* * *

  
  


The loud and happy laughter drew her towards the tents not too far away from the Northerners. The moon shone down onto her and onto the several hundred tents around her. The night was a warm one and Lyanna wondered whether spring and summer had actually arrived, as the maesters said. The tourney had started seven days ago and there wasn’t a Dark Mark in sight. She laughed quietly at that thought, remembering the Quidditch World Cup back in her fourth year, and looked up at the banner of House Baratheon that stood over the tents. 

The stag seemed to wave at her mockingly and she scowled, hiding herself behind another tent as men walked by. 

There were two women in that tent, women that were probably less noble born and more paid for. And yet Robert wanted to wed her without even knowing her. Westeros was definitely more backward than even the wizarding world, for all their insistence on sticking to quill and ink in her first life. 

Arranged marriages were common here. Another loud, leering laugh made her cringe, echoes of her former uncle flashing through her mind. Memories clashed and between the wizarding world and Westeros and growing up a Stark, she ran a hand through her hair and let out what was almost a growl. On human vocal chords, it sounded weird but she wanted to be on four legs. 

  
  


* * *

Benjen sat in the stands with his two brothers as they watched the jousting. As the sons of Lord Whent of Harrenhal walked off the field with their horses, a knight of House Haigh rode onto the field, riding to his starting spot. The knight that came in on the other side of the field rode onto the field too, bearing a mixed set of armor, mail that looked to be in various colors of white and grey. There was no hint as to the identity of the knight as the man’s helm covered his whole face. 

The shield bore an unknown sigil and the people fell silent around him. It was a relatively warm day, the trees were moving in the slight breeze and Benjen raised an eyebrow. The sigil of the unknown knight was of an icy white heart tree, with red branches and leaves, and a laughing face set in the center. 

The flag was lowered and the joust started. The two knights rode at each other with their lances and helmets down. The knight with the laughing tree sigil clearly knew how to ride and joust but the knight’s horse was clearly uneasy, fighting the rider at each movement. Benjen watched as the knight stroked the horse’s neck, whispering something to the mount, before focusing on the opponent in the tilt. Yells and shouts filled the air as the knight of the laughing tree unhorsed the knight of House Haigh.

The man went flying and landed on the soft dirt with a loud thump. The knight of the laughing tree pulled their horse to a stop beside the knight and spoke down to the man. It wasn’t anything Benjen could hear but whatever the winner said, the losing knight agreed to vehemently.

Clapping filled the air as everyone applauded the winning man.

“Who do you think it is?” Brandon questioned, turning to look at Benjen and Ned. “Must be a northerner to have a heart tree on his shield.”

“I don’t know. Mayhaps it’s one of the barrow knights,” Ned remarked hesitantly.

The knight of the laughing tree continued back to his starting position and reset his lance for the next tilt. A knight of House Blount rode against him next and was unhorsed after two tilts and then a knight of House Frey followed and lost in the third tilt. All of them agreed to the winner, to the knight of the laughing tree. The knight’s voice was loud and booming and Benjen thought of his sister’s disappearance right before the joust. The knight’s horse clearly wasn’t his but the knight rode like he had been born to it.

He turned to look at the next opponent, wondering who it would be, and watched as Prince Rhaegar rode out onto the field on a white destrier, cloaked all in red for House Targaryen. The horse was dressed too, a red cloak over its’ back and well groomed too. 

The knight of the laughing tree turned back and cantered back to the starting point, lowering his lance. Rhaegar did the same and the horn was blown. Both knights rode against each other as the sun shone down onto them. Benjen watched as both knights collided but stayed ahorse, the loud clang of the lances meeting shields filling the air. People cheered for their prince and Benjen could hear the little Princess Rhaenys yell loudest for her father.

Rhaegar didn’t even acknowledge the crowd as he returned to his position. The Knight of the Laughing Tree followed suit and they rode against each other again only to stay ahorse. They rode against each other a third time and a fourth only for both to remain in their saddles. The crowd drew in a cautious breath as the knight and the prince rode against each other a fifth time. 

The Knight of Laughing Tree and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen both stayed in the saddle again and then Rhaegar dipped his head, dropping the face mask on his helm. His indigo eyes were narrowed and Benjen thought he saw a hint of sweat on the prince’s forehead. The man’s cheeks were flush from the effort and Benjen again wondered who the strange knight was. 

“Let it be a draw then!” Rhaegar exclaimed, urging his horse over towards the center of the field. “Sir knight, let us know who you are!”

Cheers filled the air and the Knight of the Laughing Tree rode over towards the center of the field as well, pulling his horse to a stop. The knight stayed quiet and still for several minutes and the crowd waited with baited breath to see who had jousted Prince Rhaegar for five tilts and had not been unhorsed.

The Knight’s horse finally had had enough and reared up, kicking out with its’ front hooves. People screamed in the stands, not for the safety of the rider, but in excitement. Prince Rhaegar immediately jumped down from his horse, holding out his arms towards the screaming horse, ready to catch the reins but in that moment, the Knight of the Laughing Tree kicked at the horse’s flanks.

The horse screamed loud and upset and galloped off, jumping the barrier between the field and the crowds.

Benjen blinked and turned to meet Ned and Brandon’s eyes, seeing their eyes widen.

* * *

  
  


“I want this knight found!” Aerys screamed, standing up in the hall. 

“Yes, father. I’ll find him,” Rhaegar offered, glancing to Elia, who raised an eyebrow. “I am interested myself after I escort Elia back to our rooms.”

Aerys glared at them. “He is my enemy! He is our enemy! Unmask him at once and bring him to me!”

“Father…”

Aerys scowled and turned to look at Elia, his scowl deepening. Elia inched closer to Rhaegar at the look, tightening her fingers in his.

“I will find him.”

Rhaegar led Elia out of the hall, for once glad that it was just him and Elia in the hall. The kingsguard knights were at the doors and not flanking his father.

“I would like to know who the knight is as well,” Elia remarked, as they left the hall and stepped out into the chilly night air. “For one to stay ahorse with you on the other horse.”

Rhaegar sighed and Elia smiled, mischief in her dark eyes.

“Whoever it was… He was strong,” Rhaegar said, as they looked up into the night sky. “Rhaenys is asleep?”

“She is. She’s with Lady Ashara,” Elia answered quietly, loosening her hold on his arm. His silver hair was loose at his back and beautiful and wholly Valyrian. She stroked her belly and caught Rhaegar watching her. “I think this one will be a boy. It feels different than Rhaenys did.”

Rhaegar reached out and put his hand on her belly, unafraid to show affection out where anyone could see them. “I think I shall believe you.”

“You think?” Elia teased. “Have you ever been pregnant, your Grace?”

Rhaegar laughed as they continued walking through the line of tents. The stars were brighter this night and they heard Arthur Dayne silently walk behind them. As they walked, men bowed to them and then walked on their way, their eyes widening only a little at the sight of their future king and queen.

Elia fell silent as they passed several tents and Rhaegar didn’t choose to speak into the silence, hearing the occasional whinny of a horse or a loud laugh. 

As they walked to the edge of the tents, he guided them over to a clearing not too far from the lake. Trees lined the edge of the water, providing a little cover for the pair. It was just them and Ser Arthur Dayne and Elia knew that Rhaegar trusted him.

“Did you really offer to host the tourney?” Elia questioned faintly, as they stopped at the lake’s edge. 

Rhaegar could see the Isle of Faces in the distance, imagining the stories that had been told about it. Ser Addam Velaryon had allegedly flown to the Isle of Faces on his dragon, Seasmoke, and had taken counsel with the greenmen there during the Dance of the Dragons.

“I did. My father…”

A horse trotted into the clearing as Rhaegar spoke and they both froze. Arthur dropped his hand to the hilt of Dawn and Rhaegar’s eyes widened as he took in the knight atop the horse. It was the knight who had rode against him and had not…

Elia sucked in a tight breath but didn’t move, her eyes narrowing in thought.

“Sir knight…” Rhaegar trailed off. “I had thought you were gone.”

The man froze too and then loudly sighed, dismounted from his horse, and shucked off his shield and gloves. The shield with the laughing tree landed on the dirt ground with a thump and Rhaegar stared at it, his eyes widening even more.

“I thought this clearing was empty.”

Rhaegar blinked at the voice, at the voice that was not loud and not booming. The voice that clearly came… from a woman. The knight slipped off his… her helmet and revealed a northerner. Rhaegar’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of the armored woman, her long, messy black hair loosely splayed on her shoulders and her grey eyes lit up. They seemed to glow in the moonlight that reflected off the lake.

Elia’s eyes widened and then she smiled a little, softly, faintly. “I should have known it was you.”

“Your Grace.” The woman bowed, rising up to look at both of them. 

“The moment I saw your riding leathers under your dress,” Elia remarked.

The woman… Rhaegar stared at her and then glanced to Elia, who shrugged minutely.

“Rhaegar, this is Lady Lyanna Stark. Lady Stark, this is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“You stayed ahorse when I defeated everyone else,” Rhaegar said faintly, his heart pounding within his chest. “You bested three knights. You could have bested me.”

Lyanna tilted her head as she looked at the two of them, her eyes darkening mayhaps at a memory. “I do not like the attention and by besting you…”

“You danced with me at the opening festivities,” Elia said.

Lyanna’s cheeks flushed a little bit. “You are beautiful. My brothers were nagging at me to go dance with my future husband. I would not wed Robert Baratheon if he was the last man in the world.”

Elia laughed, her eyes lighting up with amusement, and Rhaegar blinked as he looked between them.

“Not to say that you aren’t handsome as well, your Grace,” Lyanna continued, looking at Rhaegar with a pointed look in her eyes. “You are. I just… It’s been a while since I’ve had to handle politics and I don’t fancy it.”

“You don’t… You have never been to court,” Rhaegar spoke. 

“Aye. Court… I should probably be getting back to my tent, Your Grace.”

“That is not your horse,” Rhaegar interrupted her, just as Lyanna turned her back.

Lyanna paused in her steps and turned around. “No. I didn’t want my brothers to know that it was me on the field. No horse will take me easily except the plow horse Winterfell’s horse master found me.”

“Perhaps a Dornish sand steed would be more to your liking?” Elia questioned, taking a step towards Lyanna. “Our horses are sturdy and quick on their feet like you are.”

Lyanna blinked and Rhaegar followed his wife’s step.

“Are you offering?” Lyanna asked, looking between Rhaegar and Elia hesitantly.

“Join my ladies,” Elia offered, glancing at Rhaegar and seeing him dip his head in a nod. “We head back to Dragonstone after the tourney and I think…”

“We would welcome the opportunity to know you a little better,” Rhaegar started.

Lyanna stared at them and then nodded after a few minutes. “Aye, I’d like that. I love seeing new castles and finding their hidden passage ways. Dragonstone is supposed to be old and built by arcane arts. The magic of the North is old and fascinating but I would love to learn about the magic of the Valyrians and dragonlords.”

“The magic of the North?” Elia echoed.

“The old gods are our gods,” Lyanna said, starting to shuck off the rest of her armor. “And dragonlords. I wish there were still dragons in Westeros. I would have loved to ride one.”

“I wish there were dragons too,” Rhaegar echoed quietly. “You will come with us?”

“Yes. I will for I dearly miss flying.”


End file.
